


That Which We Call A Rose

by CBlue



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, But also adorable, Casual Bribery?, Casual Espionage?, Espionage In The Office, Fluff, Happy Ending, James Bond Is A Menace, Just James Bond Things, M/M, Minor Angst, No Beta (Or Brit-Picking) We Die Like Skyfall, Q's Name, by accident but it's true
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:33:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23290081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CBlue/pseuds/CBlue
Summary: James folded his hands over his lap, bowing his head as he gathered his words. “Well, Tanner,” he eased his expression to appear less like the notorious double-oh agent and more like an inquiring mind. Inquisitive was just as dangerous, but only 007’s questions ever seemed to lead to explosions and a body count. “I was wondering if you would help me acquire some information regarding our Quartermaster.”“Q?” Tanner furrowed his brow. “What in God’s name do you want to stick your nose into, Bond?” He wiped at his face, features already turning red before the conversation revealed its true nature. “That man could have his entire file redacted before you found out hisname.”Grimacing, James forced a chuckle to keep up appearances. “Well, as it so happens, his name is exactly what I’m looking for, Tanner.”or5 Times James Bond Asked For Q's Name And 1 Time He Knew It
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 22
Kudos: 287





	That Which We Call A Rose

**Author's Note:**

> No beta or Brit-picking on this one, sorry :(( I wrote it in like three hours, edited it for maybe thirty minutes, and posted it before I lost the courage to. I'm in an odd place so I'll either end up stacking works in progress (I currently have a doc with no less than four fic ideas for 00Q) or I rushedly write something and on the high post it. Just something I had fun writing. Apologies for my Imitation British but this piece was purely indulgent. Hope everyone is staying safe during this time!!

The first person that James asked, of course, was Moneypenny.

*

Moneypenny knew everything about everyone. That’s why she was Moneypenny after all. If anyone knew everything that happened in and of Six, it was that woman.

James smiled charmingly, placing a messily put together mission report - the document stapled together to create a misshapen pile of papers - on Miss Moneypenny’s desk. “Miss Moneypenny,” he drawled as he folded his hands behind his back.

Moneypenny raised an eyebrow, looking from the mission report on her desk to James. “What is it that you need, 007? Surely, you aren’t handing in a mission report without the proper manila folder and mandated two staples, are you?” She challenged, turning that ever-burning glint in her eye from the papers to permanently rest on James.

Shifting in his stance, James chuckled good-naturedly. “Well, technicalities were never my strong suit, Miss Moneypenny.”

She smirked as she captured James’ unruly papers in her well-manicured grasp. “No, they weren’t.” Moneypenny shook her head, clicking her tongue as she moved about her desk and opened the left-top drawer. “So, what  _ can _ I do for you, Bond?”

James hummed, eyes patrolling the small room that was Moneypenny’s domain outside of M’s office. “I was actually hoping to gather some information.” He grinned, winking sportingly as if it were a shared joke between friends as opposed to his naturally flirtatious aura. “A little bit of retconning, if you will.”

“Oh?” Moneypenny’s eyes twinkled with shared mischief and curiosity. “And what sort of intelligence are we gathering, Bond?”

Pursing his lips, James leaned his frame over Moneypenny’s desk. His open palms supported his upper body as he pushed himself close enough to whisper conspiratorially. “I am trying to uncover our Quartermaster's name.”

Moneypenny’s eyes widened for a moment before a surprised chuckle escaped her. “His  _ name _ ?” She gaped for a moment before reaching for her staple remover without looking. “Why ever on earth are you asking  _ me _ for, Bond?”

James shrugged nonchalantly, aiming for indifference. “Well, I can’t exactly ask  _ him  _ now can I? He’s not exactly forthcoming.”

“The world of espionage,” Moneypenny clicked her tongue, a laugh playing across her features but this time the noise did not escape her. “But really…” she chewed at her bottom lip. “Why would  _ I  _ know his name?”

“Perhaps you don’t know it,” James moved from leaning over her desk, straightening his cuff sleeves. “But you can find out.”

Moneypenny leaned back in her seat, demeanor shifting. “ _ Ah _ ,” she let out in a breath, “you’re not asking me as one of Q’s closest friends. You’re asking me as  _ M’s secretary _ .”

James smirked. He knew the expression was one most described as smug, but he couldn’t help it when he felt quite clever. “All the better for me that they are one and the same.”

Grinning, Moneypenny removed the poorly placed staple of James’ mission report, tossing the dingy metal into the bin beside her before placing the staple remover on her desk and replacing it in her hand with her stapler. “I won’t open restricted files for you, Bond.” She spoke casually, for it was a casual affair.

“Then don’t,” James replied just as simply. “Just tell me his name.”

Moneypenny looked at the papers in her hand, punctually stapling James’ mission report, the second right beneath the first, before she turned her gaze back to James. “Do you really want to know his name?”

James let the smile tug at his lips, even if it didn’t reach his eyes. His shoulders felt stiffer under Moneypenny’s observations. “I wouldn’t have completed a mission report  _ on time _ if I didn’t.”

“The next step is to do one  _ successfully _ ,” Moneypenny teased as she set the stapler aside, reaching into the middle right side drawer for a manila folder. She looked around the small room in the same manner that James had moments earlier. “But… if you really want to know…” she whispered, leaning over her desk as she gripped at the folder in one hand and held her opposite hand firmly over James’ papers.

Obliging, James leaned forward to better hear her. His hearing was not going by any means, but in the same manner, neither spy would have to  _ lean in  _ to whisper. They were capable of speaking  _ sotto voce _ . It was really the matter of a game and one that James was willing to play if it got him his Quartermaster’s name.

“His name…” her painted lips moved at an agonizing pace as the words slipped from her mouth, “...is Q.”

James blinked, pulling away with a harsh frown. “Now, Miss Moneypenny-”

“It is,” she interrupted, words firm as she shelved James’ report into the folder. “His name is Q.”

Brow furrowed, James kept the huff of breath that tickled at his throat at bay. “It isn’t.”

“It’s who he is,” Moneypenny argued. “He is no longer a name; he’s simply Q.” She shrugged as she gathered her things. “At least, that’s the answer I got.”

“And you’re satisfied with that?” James looked her over. Moneypenny had a drive. She was dedicated and fiercely so. The former field agent who had shot James would never take a shoddy out provided by Q.

Moneypenny raised her chin, an impeccable eyebrow raising on her forehead. “Of course not,” she huffed a laugh, “but why in the bloody hell am I going to push it when the man has asked me to call him Q?”

The most powerful figure in all of MI6 shook her head, laughing at James as she handed over a perfectly straightened and mandatorily turn-in requirements filled mission report. The papers were no longer haphazardly thrown together in Bond fashion. “Now, go off and bother someone else who can be buggered to deal with you, 007.”

*

The second person that James should ask was logically Tanner.

*

Bill Tanner was Chief of Security and for bloody good reason. The man was strict. A strong, metal lock on the box of international espionage here at Six. If anyone - sans Moneypenny - knew anything about the personnel at MI6, then it would most assuredly be Tanner.

“Bill,” James said familiarly as he knocked against the doorframe to Tanner’s office.

Tanner furrowed his brow, only glancing up from the paperwork strewn about his desk for a moment before returning to it. “If you’re going to get familiar, you may as well close the door, James.” He huffed before brushing his hand through his short hair.

James smiled politely, closing the door behind himself as he entered. He adjusted his suit jacket before sitting in the chair across from Tanner. “I was wondering-”

Holding up his hand, Tanner barely contained his grimace. “If you’re asking for  _ favors _ or something of my profession, you damn well better call me Tanner.” He pressed upon things oddly, but James could see the logic in it. The man had always been well adjusted to balancing his personal and professional life. In fact, James had greeted Tanner’s wife on his way into the man’s office. Strictly professional at Six, strictly… well,  _ husband _ James supposed while Tanner was at home.

“Tanner,” James corrected. It would do no good to lie; not in this realm. “Perhaps less a professional favor and more a friendly courtesy.”

“If you thought that,” Tanner pointed accusingly, “then you would have called me Bill.” He grinned victoriously as he shuffled his papers away from him so that his hands could rest atop his desk. “Now, get to the point,  _ Bond. _ ”

James folded his hands over his lap, bowing his head as he gathered his words. “Well, Tanner,” he eased his expression to appear less like the notorious double-oh agent and more like an inquiring mind. Inquisitive was just as dangerous, but only 007’s questions ever seemed to lead to explosions and a body count. “I was wondering if you would help me acquire some information regarding our Quartermaster.”

“Q?” Tanner furrowed his brow. “What in God’s name do you want to stick your nose into, Bond?” He wiped at his face, features already turning red before the conversation revealed its true nature. “That man could have his entire file redacted before you found out his _ name _ .”

Grimacing, James forced a chuckle to keep up appearances. “Well, as it so happens, his  _ name _ is exactly what I’m looking for, Tanner.”

Once, twice, a third blink and Tanner was nearly gaping. “Are you telling me,” here he stands and the vein on his forehead pulses. “MI6’s highly trained double-oh agent is asking the Chief of Security for our Quartermaster’s  _ bloody name _ ?” His words seethed from him in a manner that reminded James of a boiling kettle.

“Yes,” James smiled widely, “you do know it, don’t you?” He raised his eyebrow in challenge. “I mean, you do know all the personnel under your security intimately, don’t you?”

Tanner knew he was being baited. After all, he and James were familiar. He screwed at his jaw as he boiled James’ words over. James could tell the moment he won, Tanner’s expression loosening. “Quinlan.” He spoke after a moment. “Quinlan Jones.”

James’ smile widened as he stood. He adjusted his suit jacket, redoing the button and brushing off non-existent dirt. “Thank you, Tanner,” he bowed his head in an honorific way, “I suppose I do owe you the favor now.”

The man across from him grinned, like a cat with a canary between its teeth. It gave James pause, but the agent was nothing if not skilled at hiding behind a facade of confidence. James furrowed his brow.

“What.” He asked, moving back toward Tanner’s desk.

“Nothing,” Tanner shrugged, mouth nearly jagged across his face from the force of it. James swore he saw yellow feather’s between his teeth. “Just that our Quartermaster could redact and  _ change _ his file before you’d know his real name.” He appraised James with a rather smug look, unfitting for his features but James could hardly blame him. “But a favor from James Bond? I like that.”

James turned away from Tanner, the chief's laughter chasing him from the office. Breathing in sharply through his nose, James turned the corner sharply. He stopped just short of running into the incredibly talented Rosa, accountant extraordinaire.

“Rosa,” he spoke pleasantly.

Rosa smirked, knowingly as she looked over his shoulder. “He thinks he’s embarrassed by it.” She said without much preamble. “One of the first things Bill did after M hired him was check for his name.” Almond eyes narrowed and pink lips trickled into a smile. “Why the sudden inquisition into Q’s name?”

Ducking his head as some of the other floor workers passed, James looked up to Rosa from beneath his lashes. “Well, it’s about time someone inquired, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” Rosa laughed, expression light as she patted James’ shoulder. “Good luck, dear.”

James watched as Rosa sauntered off, dark hair peppered with her age in an almost fashionable sense trailing after her. It was an odd sensation, watching those he was familiar with age. Aging with them. Perhaps he had not expected to live this long, live beyond this, but…

Well, it was rather nice.

*

The next person to ask, James reasoned with himself, would be a minion. Not R of course, that woman was too close to the main issue. But any other of Q’s minions would do.

*

Said minion’s name was Benedict. The man looked nothing like the famous actor of the same name and more like a background character one might find in a drama. He would have made a good Ian in some other life, James thought.

“007,” Benedict - or possibly Benedick now that James thought more of it - turned to address him. “I’m afraid Q has just stepped out.”

James smiled gently as not to frighten one of Q’s boffins. “Well, in any case, I am not looking for Q.” He allowed himself to survey the bustling traffic of Q Branch before returning his gaze to Benedick. Benedict. James furrowed his brow. “Are you named for the pope or William’s prized son?”

The minion blinked, almost expressionless. “The Prime Minister of Iceland,” he replied in a bored tone. Ah, so Benedikt it was then.

Grinning, James set the basket full of exotic teas and coffees on the counter in front of Benedikt. “Benedikt,” he corrected his pronunciation, “I have a task for you.”

“That,” Benedikt pointed toward the basket, “is a  _ bribe _ , Mr. Bond. Surely, even you double-ohs know what a bloody bribe is.” He narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“Think of it more like a persuasive tool,” James provided as he nudged the basket forward. “Now then, I was thinking perhaps we might help each other out.”

Benedikt looked aghast at the moment, but James could see the boffin already eyeing the flower tea from Huangshan. “And what could I possibly need a double-oh trouble for?” He spoke distractedly.

Mocking offense at the insinuation, James shifted his stance to be more open. Less 007 and more the James Bond that stuck around Q Branch much too often. He smiled easily, “why  _ wouldn’t _ you want the favor of a double-oh agent?”

“Because I'd rather be on my boss’ good side,” Benedikt gave a snort of laughter, peeling himself away from the thrall of jasmine teas. James eyed the basket, just to check that he had indeed removed the Earl Grey from Penang meant for his Quartermaster. Seeing that he had set the basket out just as he originally intended, James pushed the basket further toward Benedikt.

“Come on, Benedikt,” James spoke imploringly. “All I need is a name.”

Benedikt blinked, but this time it was in confusion. “A name?” He echoed, scrutinizing gaze turning to the basket as if there might be a hidden camera in place. “Whose name?”

James plastered a placating smile unto his face as he cocked his hip into the counter. “Q’s.”

Widen eyes met his gaze before the minion pinwheeled himself backward. “You’re trying to  _ bribe me _ for Q’s name?!” He nearly shouted in the small Q Branch break room. “You would have had a better chance  _ blackmailing _ me,” Benedikt hissed as he quickly walked backward.

Chagrined, James made to step toward the retreating boffin. “Now, wait-” he spoke softly as if luring out a scared animal. “All I need is-”

“No!” Benedikt’s face paled before he pushed himself out of the room. The door swung loudly, alerting this half of Q Branch to Benedikt’s hasty retreat. James at least had the wherewithal - and the decency - to pretend to be sheepish at the disruption.

Another minion, younger still and curious, peered her head into the breakroom. “Is that coffee?” She inquired gently as if she were a dog sniffing out treats from the kitchen.

Sighing, James resigned himself to a lost cause when he had seen one. “All for Q Branch,” he smiled tightly, frame wound as frustration burned in his stomach like a heated coil.

The younger boffin cautiously stepped into the room, eyes widening as she spotted the sweeter coffees decorating the basket. “Oh, Mr. Bond, you are my favorite.”

James gave a derisive chuckle as he made to pass her. She was one of the newer ones if James recalled. He certainly couldn’t place her name at the moment. “Thank you for your confidence.” The tone was smooth but he knew even the youngest of spotted boffins could see that there was nothing more to the pleasantry. “At least someone down here cares for me.”

She snorted a laugh, covering her mouth in an insecure gesture as she ducked her head. Cheeks flushed, the woman returned her gaze to James. “As if you aren’t Q’s favorite double-oh,” she rolled her eyes as she reached for the coffee. “I’m not  _ that _ new.”

The nameless minion might not have found that surprising, and perhaps even James knew that, but it was always something else to hear it.

*

James’ options were dwindling, which is why James went to M next.

*

“You,” M rubbed at his forehead, “want me to do  _ what _ exactly?”

“Find out Q’s name,” James shrugged where he sat. “Tanner said his file reads Quinlan, but we both know the lengths that our Quartermaster would go to conceal himself.”

M’s forehead pulsed loudly, a drum where Tanner’s was a silent rhythm. “And if his file  _ reads _ Quinlan, then why do you expect  _ me  _ to know differently?”

It was not a smug smile, but something rather contrite. Tired, perhaps. James was tired of running around just to find out his Quartermaster’s damn  _ name _ . And perhaps because he knew the answer to M’s questions and the thought of it made his chest ache still. A ghostly pain.

“M - your predecessor - must have kept her  _ own  _ files on MI6 employees,” James pointed out diplomatically, fighting to keep the emotion that still lay unsettled in him at M’s death. “Especially of the young Quartermaster she personally recruited.”

Looking pointedly at James, M sighed deeply before leaning back in his seat. “You’re of course correct in this assumption,” he raised a singular brow, looking explicitly resigned to his fate as opposed to anger at James’ games. The agent would take that as a win. “But why should I entrust that information to you, Bond?”

James pursed his lips for a moment. An offer was on the tip of his tongue before M interrupted him.

“And Bond, I swear by Queen and country if you say that you’ll return equipment whole or turn in reports on time  _ as you bloody job description is  _ I will ensure that you are homebound for the next sixteen months, do you understand me?” M spoke pointedly. Just this side short of brusque, but blunt and respectable. In any capacity, James at the very least respected it.

He could tell the God's honest truth, but only one person deserved that answer. And that person would never hear it because James would not resort to that. Clearing his throat, James put on a gentle smile. “It’s important, sir.”

M’s appraising gaze weighed heavily on James, but that was the sacrifice James was willing to make. Whatever M was looking for - or perhaps what he was hoping to find - seemed to be the final nail in the coffin. Sighing, M turned to the cabinet behind him. Opening the fine wooden door revealed a hearty amount of liquor quaintly tucked away. James watched in interest as M reached for a shorter bottle of scotch, pulling at its neck until the bottle went and a mechanism clicked.

The false panel slid away, revealing a safe. M bloody well knew that if James wanted to get in there, he could. Perhaps that is why M was giving this away so willingly. Because James Bond had  _ asked _ . He could nearly laugh at the irony. M rolled his shoulders back as he pulled out a rather large file. The folder was packed to the brim with strictly need to know information, and James was certain he did not need to know.

Except for Q’s name. He  _ had _ to know.

“Right here,” M announced as he retrieved a small slip of paper from the larger folder. “Ah,” he chuckled lightly, shaking his head.

“What is it?” James leaned forward in his seat, eyes eagerly seeking out the page.

M turned the small sheet toward James, showing off the scrawled handwriting that they both could recognize as their Quartermaster’s. ‘ _ Try harder’ _ , it simply read. The taunting words were followed by a small face tilted on its side, mocking James as he read the note.

“Bollocks,” James threw himself back in the chair, turning away from the note and M.

For his part, M seemed rather amused. A striking contrast to the annoyed position he had previously taken on the manner. “And what will you do now, 007?” It was a tease. Something that was familiar and welcoming despite James’ cold reception to the man. Mallory really had deserved M’s seat, after all.

James shook his head as he stood. “I suppose I’m off to do what I should have done in the first place.”

M smirked at James as he placed the note back into the folder. “That’s par for the course for you though, isn’t it?” He winked at James,  _ winked _ , before dismissing him.

Huffing in his own resignation, James tried to saunter away with what little dignity he had. Moneypenny stopped him just as she was passing his desk.

“Still on this?” She grinned before popping a Swedish chocolate into her mouth.

“Yes,” James spoke and he was certain Moneypenny was mentally striking down notes about his pigheaded stubbornness somewhere in her mind that was not bloody  _ enjoying _ this so much.

Moneypenny’s grin widened as she skimmed over her assorted chocolates. “You know there are rumors about his name,” she eyed James but her expression shifted in a curious manner. James couldn’t quite place it.

Furrowing his brow, James stepped closer toward her desk. “There’s always rumors at work,” he spoke lightly.

“Yes,” Moneypenny nodded in agreement before ignoring her sweets altogether. “But why do you just  _ now _ want to know?” Her grin was no longer wide, her features twisted as if following along the trail that James left. As if that would help her puzzle his reasonings.

James shrugged, turning from her desk and gliding toward Q Branch. He was certain he heard Moneypenny mutter something under her breath before depositing another chocolate into her mouth.

Familiar chocolates that he had recently left on Q’s desk. And Q had never turned down sweets before.

*

James was going to be on the couch tonight.

*

“I just don’t understand,” Q spoke neither quietly nor loudly. It was almost just frustrating to listen to him, which James was certain symbolized how frustrated the Quartermaster really was. Long fingers carded anxiously through dark curls before Q turned his glare to James. “I don’t understand why you would go  _ rooting  _ around my file behind my back!” He exclaimed, hands gesturing as a maestro as he spoke. Q paced his office as James sat carefully on the sofa.

“I wasn’t  _ rooting _ ,” James argued, being careful not to betray any of his actions in his words or face. “I was simply  _ asking  _ of it.”

Q’s nostrils flared in that way they always did when he worked himself up into a tiff. “ _ Asking _ of it,” he barked, “and why then, James, were you  _ asking _ of it?”

Q hardly called James anything other than Bond or 007 while at work. If he was  _ James _ at the moment, then that was all too telling of the line he had crossed. James grimaced before inhaling sharply.

“I just…” he began slowly, reaching for one of Q’s hands, fingertips gently calloused in a perfect way, placing the skin to his lips softly. “I just wanted to  _ know _ .” James breathed out finally, relishing the feeling of his words against Q’s skin.

The tension that was once held in Q’s shoulders seemed to drain, even if ever so slightly. “ _ What? _ ” Q asked tiredly, and James could see the hours of lost sleep. Hours of James looking up leads and dogging for answers when he could have simply asked Q himself.

But he was afraid. Q hadn’t  _ given _ his name up until this point, so why would he have answered James? Perhaps Moneypenny had been right. Perhaps he was nothing other than Q. Or maybe Tanner was on to something when he had said that Q was embarrassed about it. And what right did James have to lord something over him if it made him uncomfortable?

It would have been easier to leave it alone had it just been a curiosity. But it was not curiosity. It was the burning need to  _ know _ . Because James was terrified of this, but he  _ wanted _ it. Wanted to be terrified for all of the right reasons.

Q was not Vesper, or Swann, or any of the lines of bodies and broken dreams that made up the trail behind James’ heart. Q was  _ different _ and James wanted him to know. Wanted him to know more than just waking up beside him, making his coffee the way he liked, and feeding the cats. He wanted to know Q as intimately as it felt that Q knew him.

So why hadn’t he just bloody asked Q in the first place?

“What is your name?” James let out in a breath, looking up to Q where he stood. His knees ached and James was grateful that he was sitting now. 

Blinking with brilliant and curious eyes, Q tilted his head. He allowed James the touch of his hand, so the double-oh pressed upon those blessing and damning fingers melting kisses as he exhaled shakily. “I just wanted to know your  _ name _ ,” James pleaded between kisses.

“James,” Q exhaled softly, his other hand curling through James’ scalp and drawing his attention away from his hand. “You wanted to know my  _ name _ ?” His lips teased into a smile but his gaze remained penetrating. “Why didn’t you just ask me?”

“I don’t know,” James spoke honestly, drawing Q closer to him by hooking an arm around the Quartermaster’s waist. “I suppose…”

Q furrowed his brow as he followed James’ pull, standing between the agent’s parted legs. “You suppose what, Bond?”

Bond was back on Q’s tongue, signaling the hope in James' chest to burst. It was Q’s Quartermaster voice that always seemed to draw out whatever answer he needed, whatever answer James’ needed.

“What if you didn’t tell me?” It sounded childish aloud, but something of his words must have made sense because Q’s expression was softening. His hand curled protectively against James’ scalp, and the agent was intimately familiar with the reassurance.

Q kissed gently at James’ forehead, lips barely brushing against his skin but always enough to send a pulsing heat through James’ body. Belatedly, James felt Q’s lips moving against his skin. His brow furrowed beneath Q’s lips.

“What?” He asked, pulling away so he could see Q’s face. There was an attractive twinkle of mischief in those eyes that James could not help but be drawn to.

Leaning into him again, this time those poisoning and healing lips pressing along the column of his neck, James felt the movement again. His eyes widened as he felt Q repeat the movement until James’ hand clutched at Q’s waist, turning his whispered words into a breathless, “ _ James”. _

Grinning as he pulled Q closer to him, James chuckled against Q’s dark and greying curls. “Was the note strictly necessary?”

“Oh, yes,” Q teased, fingers eliciting James’ short-breathed sighs as they moved. “Definitely.”

James suckled along Q’s neck, nipping playfully at his jaw until Q’s teasing became a silent plea. He would always  _ want _ but it was something entirely else to be  _ needed _ .

And  _ damn  _ if James didn’t love every bit of it.

*

He was, decidedly, saved from the couch that evening.

*

Mornings were always languid when neither had any particular place to be. That said, it did not mean that James did not enjoy getting up early, going for a run, only to come back, have a shower, and make Q his Earl Grey. Smiling as he put the kettle on, James turned to see Q watching him from the doorway of their bedroom.

Q was wearing a barely contained smile, sucking in his lips to keep the smile from breaking across his face. It did absolutely nothing to hide the fact that he was smiling and only left his lips prettily red and bruised. James held out his arm, beckoning silently for Q to come and settle into it.

Wordlessly, Q padded into the kitchen, arms wrapping around James’ neck as James let his arm rest on Q’s waist. James gave him a quick peck before turning his attention to the pale, shimmering skin of his neck. On his left side, Q was splashed with beautiful, purple marks. It wouldn’t do any good not to give his right side the same treatment. James whispered as much against Q’s sensitive skin.

Chuckling, Q’s fingers danced along James’ bare chest. “You know, if you strut around half-naked, I’m just going to want to dirty you again,” Q teased as his fingers grazed gently over James’ right nipple. “Sort of defeats the purpose of a shower.”

“Oh, but  _ darling _ ,” James purred once he was satisfied with the mark he had worked into his Quartermaster’s skin. “How else can I get you into the shower with me?”

Q scoffed a laugh, playfully slapping at James’ pec. “You know that ended  _ horrendously _ the first time.”

Wrapping his other arm to join his left on Q’s waist, James kissed at Q’s cheek. “Yes, but the laugh it got out of you once it was all over,” he clicked his tongue, “I’d say the bruised pride was well worth it.”

“Bruised more than your pride,” Q nipped lazily at James’ chin before sighing and turning his attention to James’ lips. “I didn’t mind taking care of  _ that _ for you, though.”

Grinning, James huffed a laugh against Q’s lips. “No, you didn’t.”

The sunlight drizzled through the overcast sky and into the kitchen as the kettle whistled for attention. The water’s signal alerting the two cats that had been otherwise consumed in their own playthings that soon they would be having breakfast.

James smiled at the domesticity of it. Q’s hair greying, the cats demanding attention, the morning tea singing, the glistening band adorning Q’s finger that would soon be matched by James’ own.

“I cannot believe,” Q shook his head, “that you went to Tanner to try to get my name.” The Quartermaster grinned. “All so you could bloody  _ propose _ , you archaic twat.”

Growling, James nipped at Q’s lovely displayed clavicle. “It’s  _ romantic _ , Q.”

Q drew back, eyes utterly sparkling in the morning light of their kitchen. Perhaps it was the address. The trust that neither of them had held before now. Q’s name would remain nestled into their skin, whispered as their hands grasped for one another.

Because Moneypenny was right. He was simply Q. Because Tanner was right. He was embarrassed. Because James didn’t care if he was named for a pope or a prime minister. James bent forward, breathing Q’s name in a hot breath against his shoulder.

Q shuddered beneath James’ ministrations, moaning his name and gripping at his scalp in the way that so pleased him.

*

It didn’t much matter, because Q’s name was Bond only four months later.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Ian Bonar played Q’s Assistant in SPECTRE and while I debated making him R for his loyalty, I kept him as a faithful minion. After I decided to name him Benedikt I found out that ironically enough he did have a role in Atonement where - you guessed it - Benedict Cumberbatch had a shining role. Anyways, shout out to Ian Bonar my dudes. And of course, the title for this fic comes from Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet_. If you want to come and shout at me on Tumblr, check out @corancoranthemagicalman! If you came here _from_ Tumblr, feel free to shout at me either here or there.


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